


stories from the other side

by staringatstars



Series: Ghost Stories [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Character Turned Into a Ghost, Ghost Hanzo, Ghost McCree, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 12:19:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12168759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staringatstars/pseuds/staringatstars
Summary: Death should have been the end.It wasn't.





	stories from the other side

It was on a moonlit night that Hanzo finally found the courage to do what he should have done the very instant he'd raised his blade against his brother. The window at his bedside was open, allowing a cool breeze to shift the strands of raven hair slick against his neck, and if he closed his eyes, he could hear the distant call of birds chirping sweetly from the boughs of the cherry blossoms in the courtyard. It was winter still, so the branches were barren. It was a shame, Hanzo thought to himself as he freed the ceremonial blade from its beaded sheathe, that he wouldn't be able to see their pink flowers once more before he left this world. His mother, when she was alive, had loved the trees dearly, often stealing him away to enjoy the festival held in their honor at the start of spring, and Hanzo had continued the tradition with Genji throughout their childhood, until his responsibilities became too much to maintain the tradition and Genji didn't want to spend any more time with than he had to, anyway.

Still, it wouldn't have felt right to walk the winding paths through the gardens without him.

Those were the faces and names that occupied Hanzo's thoughts as he gently pressed the blade below his collarbone. Though slitting open his stomach would bring the greater honor, there was something appealingly symbolic to the act of killing his heart. When he imagined it, he thought of a dried out husk, something already dead and well on its way to turning to dust.

Would ending things this way deny him the chance to apologize to his brother in the afterlife? Would it rob him of the chance to see his mother once more?

Biting down on his lip hard enough to taste the sharp tang of blood on his tongue, Hanzo prayed that if it were so, that he at least be given to oblivion, endless and depthless. It would be a mercy to simply stop existing, a mercy he didn't deserve, but even so…. Despite knowing that he had slain Genji, and in doing so had not only broken his promise to their mother to protect him, but had essentially thrown it in her face, he didn't think he could handle the pain of spending an eternity without them, utterly alone and without any hope of redeeming himself.

The thought alone was enough to make his hands shake, his resolve waver, ever so slightly.

If someone were to have called his name or knocked on his door, he might have even lost his nerve, but no one did. He cocked his head, listening out of habit for the rustle of his little brother's clothes outside.

But there was nothing. Wind and birdsong eclipsed the silence, but neither could fill the void left behind.

Hanzo allowed one final sigh to pass his lips as he looked out to behold the beauty of the starless sky one last time, and then plunged the dagger into his breast.

 

He hadn't expected to wake up shortly after in the sterile and clutterless hallways of Overwatch, still draped in his bloody kimono. He hadn't expected to wake up at all.

At first, he roamed silently, afraid of what welcome he might receive if he were spotted, but came to realize over a period of days that the few agents currently inhabiting the base couldn't see or interact with him at all.

Most often, he would encounter the spritely girl with the pixie cut tearing through the base like it was a race, and for a while, simply assumed that she was ignoring him, as ill-advised as such an action would be. Then the day came when he didn't move fast enough, taken off-guard by her sudden burst of speed and the blue trail she left in her wake. Only to find that she passed straight through him with barely a shiver.

He found he didn't need to rest, felt no desire for food or thirst. She couldn't hear him when he spoke, none of them could, and all attempts to change out his robes for something unspoiled by his blood were met with similar failure.

Was this some sort of punishment? Had he actually been doomed to linger on the earthly plane out of penance for his crimes?

After a time, he slipped into a trance that precluded thought, and passed without purpose or intention through the entrances into empty and occupied quarters alike. It wasn't until Hanzo caught sight of his wraith-like reflection staring back at him from the surface of a mirror hanging up in an otherwise largely barren room, that the dam finally broke. He shrieked at the pale features, at the bruises beneath his sunken eyes, and the unwashed, tangled mess he'd allowed his hair to become in the days preceding his death. He screamed without pause or breath, for as long as he could stand it, until suddenly a presence in the doorway had him whirling, his mouth still agape and slack.

A young man with bushy sideburns stared back at him, his expression so decidedly unimpressed that it was almost as though he could see him. But that was impossible.

"Think you could tone it down on the noise a bit, darlin'? Some of us are tryin' to get some peace and quiet around here."

The man, Hanzo would find out later, was named McCree. He was an American that used to work for the covert ops branch of Overwatch before things got decidedly a little too dicey for his tastes and he'd tried to leave. Hanzo never pressed him on how that had worked out for him, though, because the shotgun shells embedded into his back and exposed bone where the fabric was blown away by the blast said enough.

Similarly, McCree didn't ask the archer about the scarlet circle on Hanzo's chest, for which he was grateful. Perhaps, in time, he would explain, but it was all still too fresh for him to delve into with a stranger.

They weren't strangers for long, however. Loneliness and a yearning for conversation had a way of bringing even the prickliest of people together, if only to make the isolation even a smidge more bearable.

Once, Hanzo had complained in a fit of pique that this fate which had befallen them was exactly what he hadn't asked for, and the cowboy had smiled with sadness in his eyes and said, "Does anyone?"

Maybe it was because Hanzo hadn't been watching the agents closely enough, or maybe it was due to how the cyborg, living though he was, wandered soundlessly through the base, disturbing little with his presence and rarely speaking, but it was several weeks before he realized that among the agents and hidden beneath a neon green mask, was his little brother. Now grown and so much colder, so much harder than he'd once been.

He could barely hear McCree at his side, needlessly explaining the man's identity and the reason for his scars. "I know why he is the way he is, McCree." He turned to face the gunslinger, ignorant of the scarlet drops falling from his wound, of the flickering lights that drew even the attention of the agents as he tonelessly admitted, "I am the one who made him that way."

McCree hesitated to talk to him after that, even tried to chase Hanzo away from his brother's side, claiming that the prolonged presence of the dead around the living could harm them, but Hanzo refused to be persuaded or moved. There was no place else for him to go. Eventually, McCree faded out of sight, and by the time he appeared again, Hanzo had already lost track of how many hours, how many days had passed.

He said he'd need some time to cool off, to get his head straight, because he'd always imagined Genji's older brother to be some kind of monster. Thinking of his appearance, Hanzo had scoffed at that, but McCree kept his expression solemn and uncomfortably earnest, "What I'm trying to tell ya is… I didn't think he'd be a kid so torn up by what he'd done he'd take his own life over it."

McCree reached out to lay a hand on Hanzo's shoulder, not expecting the man to bare his teeth and hiss, "What do you know of me? What do you know of what I've done?" The cowboy's gaze flicked to his wound, forcing Hanzo to physically restrain himself from unleashing the building scream inside him.

Wishing to be gone, to see anything other than the pity in the cowboy's tawny brown eyes, Hanzo screwed his eyes shut… and when at last he opened them, his brother's room was filled with sunlight, McCree was gone, and three days had passed.

 

When McCree found him again, the first thing he did was land a solid punch on his cheek. It hurt unexpectedly, leading Hanzo to discover that the dead were capable of harming others like them. Then, before he could retaliate, the man threw his arms around Hanzo, his body shaking slightly as he whispered, "Man, don't do that. I thought I wasn't gonna see you again."

Hanzo patted him on the back, feeling awkward and regretful for the stress he'd put him through.

It was when the agents gathered for breakfast that he first noticed something had changed. Gesturing to the blankets and coats the young recruits gathered at the table were wearing, he asked, "Why are they dressed so strangely?" It was still the summer season in Gilbratar.

"I can't tell ya if it was you or me or the AC, but they've been breathing out mist for days." Very soon, those wearing layers began to sweat, and they gladly stripped off their winter garments. Glancing sideways at Hanzo, McCree huffed a humorless laugh. "Guess that answers that."

That night, McCree found the archer standing over Genji's bedside, watching the cyborg as he continued to sleep dreamlessly. "You could always try talking to him, you know," Jesse suggested, gliding effortlessly to his side.

Without taking his eyes off his brother, Hanzo softly replied, "I doubt he'd like to see me right now."

The cowboy shrugged. "It ain't called a haunting because they want ya around, partner."

 

It'd been some time since Genji had last allowed himself the indulgence of alcohol. It was terrible for his synthetic body, after all. His mechanical liver simply wasn't up to the task of filtering the toxin from his system, which meant it took very little consumption of any of the harder liquors to land him in the clinic, a reality which he'd learned early into his Blackwatch days, on the anniversary of his death.

It wasn't solely due to that reason, though, that he tried to avoid the stuff. He'd been something of a social drinker in his youth, and old habits died hard. Once he had a sip, it was difficult for him to stop, even knowing the consequences. That was why when Reinhardt and Torbjorn ushered him over to their corner of the kitchen to celebrate the six month anniversary of the Recall, he conceded solely to adding the rum to his tea, except soon the first cup became a second, and the third was more liquor than tea.

It loosened his lips, causing him to spill to the veterans seated around the table he didn't recall joining, including Ana, who'd revealed herself to be alive a short time ago, and Soldier 76. In reluctant starts and stops that passed blessedly without interruption, he confided in them about the gentle hands he could sometimes feel carding through his hair while he slept, and the soft hum of a lullaby his brother used to sing reaching him through his dreams.

It was driving him out of his mind.

Some nights, he refused to sleep, and the sensation and sounds never came, often stopping entirely for days after, and he couldn't decided which was worse, the unprovoked reminders of the kinder brother he'd lost well before his death, or the void left behind by their absence.

Reinhardt patted him sympathetically on the shoulder, his own brand of gentleness enough to make the cyborg pitch forward slightly. "I, too, had difficulty accepting that the people I cared about were gone from this world." The man's sole functioning eye swiveled to stare pointedly at Ana and Jack, who each shifted uncomfortably under its scrutiny, and Genji could have sworn he heard McCree's distinctive chuckle from behind him, so close and real he almost turned to check, except no one knew where McCree was. He hadn't answered Recall, hadn't talked to anyone in years.

Unbidden, a jerky shiver ripped through Genji's mechanical limbs. It didn't make any sense when most of his nerve endings were either dead or missing, yet his vents released plumes of steam as his systems attempted to reestablish his equilibrium.

When the strange fit subsided, Genji noticed that Ana was staring at him, her weathered features pinched with concern. "Have you been sleeping, Genji?" It had to be her favorite question to ask, since it was fully in her power to make her fellow agents sleep at any given time, questionable ethics aside. It wasn't, however, something Genji wished to discuss around so many of his peers. She took his silence in stride, though, because after a short, exasperated huff that briefly lifted her silvery fringe off the black patch she always wore, she told him that she'd invited Zenyatta over to Overwatch and that he'd be flying into Gilbratar airport soon.

As much as he didn't want to show it, it was obvious by the way his entire body instantly straightened that Genji was excited by the prospect of seeing his master again, after spending so many months without his calming presence by his side.

 

As was befitting of his master's wisdom, Genji bowed low upon meeting him in the terminal. They spoke of what occurred during their separation, of the things they had done and the people they had met. Genji did his best to keep his end of the conversation light, as he did not wish to burden his master with his troubles so early into their reunion, and though he was certain Zenyatta sensed that he was withholding something from him, the omnic didn't press the issue. Instead, he invited Genji to meditate with him on the cliffside the next morning, thus allowing his student the space, time, and privacy to share what plagued him on his own accord.

Ducking his head, Genji quietly admitted that he often felt his brother's presence, when he was alone and when he slept. He wanted – needed to believe that it was all in his mind, though such an explanation would certainly bring with it its own slew of fears and anxieties.

He shifted, keenly aware of the stone scraping against his metal legs and the rhythmic crash of the surf. "That is because his spirit is with you, my student." Certain he'd misheard or misunderstood his master's meaning, Genji quietly requested that Zenyatta repeat his words, but instead of complying, the omnic went on to clarify, "However, though you anchor him to this plane, it is his guilt and his guilt alone which keeps him here." Genji's mouth went dry as he struggled to swallow. The air around seemed to drop in temperature, as though a cloud had suddenly blocked the sun. After giving him a moment to compose himself, "Zenyatta continued, "Would you like to speak with him?"

The answer was obvious. Genji had already forgiven Hanzo for his actions, and had always regretted not being able to share that with him, but it seemed the day had come when he would finally get his chance. Without another word, he settled back into the lotus position, centering his focus on the steady pulse of his master's brass orbs as his breathing and pulse began to slow. Following Zenyatta's instructions, he sank deeper and deeper in a trance, until the sights, sounds, and smells of the living world began to grow distant and muted. When he opened his eyes again to stare at his surroundings through his visor, it was to find that the color had drained from the world, as well, leaving behind naught but greys and whites and blacks in its place. And standing amongst the grey was his older brother, even paler than he remembered, and sporting the sole spot of color in the strange twilight realm, a scarlet stain still wet on his chest.

He didn't react immediately to Genji's presence, opting instead to further scrutinize the frozen form of his master, but that was likely because Genji hadn't made a move yet, hadn't made a sound. How could he? What could he possibly say?

_I miss you._

_I searched for you._

_Why didn't you wait for me?_

And as though his brother could somehow hear the words rattling around in his skull, Hanzo abruptly stiffened, before turning slowly to face him. Neither of them spoke for what felt like an eternity, until finally Genji couldn't stand the distance between them a second longer. His legs unfolded and lifted him as though on their own accord, and though a small voice in the back of his mind whispered that he needed to take this slowly, that he didn't want to scare his brother away, if that was who this specter truly was, his body refused to listen. In a desperate bid to keep him from leaving, and also because it'd just been so long since he'd last embraced his brother, Genji threw his arms around him, awestruck by how light and frail Hanzo had become, how small.

After a moment's hesitation, during which Genji found he couldn't breath, there came a tentative touch on his backplates, which quickly strengthened, becoming as fierce and desperate for the contact as his own. "Did you…" His voice broke pitifully, a sound interpreted by the filter as jarring static, forcing him to try again, "Is this because of…?"

"No", Hanzo hastily assured him. though his gaze flickered briefly towards a spot over Genji's shoulder. He sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping with the weight of it, as he carefully admitted, "I just… wasn't fast enough."

And Genji felt an old rage flower within him, a fury with no direction or outlet now that the clan which had destroyed their lives was on its last legs. He'd known that Hanzo had disappeared, had suspected that the clan had something to do with it, and yet to hear it said first hand that their family had succeeded with Hanzo where they had failed with him, it set his blood on fire.

He didn't notice the pressure of Hanzo's grip on his wrists until his brother gave them a light shake. "You rarely listened to me when I was alive and I doubt that will ever change, but please do this one thing for me, little brother." There was a pleading note mixed in the fond amusement coloring Hanzo's tone that stole away any words Genji might have spoken. Instead, he only stared, unable to look away, "Do not go out seeking vengeance on my behalf. I do not want it." His hands tightened minutely around Genji's arms. "And I would not risk you to have it."

Quietly, because Genji could already feel his time in the twilight realm between life and death coming to a close, he met his brother's dark eyes and asked,"Will I see you again?"

And despite his wordless protest, Hanzo pulled back."If it is what you wish," he said, averting his gaze, as his outline began to grow vague and indistinct. "I… cannot imagine why you would want to, though. After what I did…"

"I forgave you a long time ago, _anija_." Genji placed his hands on his older brother's shoulders, though there was no strength to the hold, leaving his brother the freedom to step away if he wished. "Now it is up to you to forgive yourself."

"I know." A palm, cold and clammy, came to rest on Genji's cheek, surprising him as he hadn't noticed the absence of his visor. Then Hanzo gently pressed their foreheads together, and said, "I am so proud of you, little brother."

When Genji awakened from his trance to once more gaze upon the sea, the cliff, and his mentor, it was with tears spilling from his eyes, and a sob lodged in his throat.

 

"You're a crap liar, Shimada."

Hanzo whirled to find McCree standing behind him with his arms crossed over his chest, his features carefully blank to obscure as much emotion as possible, but anger had a way of effecting the otherworldly dimension they inhabited, of cutting through the air like a wrong note, and fear tasted like iron.

The cowboy didn't bother to wait for a response before pivoting on his boot and heading for the nearest wall, where a swirling black and purple portal suddenly appeared. Hanzo called after him, "Where are you going?"

Standing on the threshold of the doorway he'd summoned, McCree jerked his shoulders in what Hanzo was sure was a deliberately casual shrug. "I haven't bugged Reaper in a while." There's a grin curling his lips, but it's a thing made of knives, and did nothing to dull the sudden hard edge to his voice when he added, "Think he's about due for another wake up call from Hell." Then he took a step into the vortex and vanished from sight.

And Hanzo could have followed him, if only to see where his thirst for vengeance took him, but he found himself rooted to the spot. Instead, he chose to linger by Genji's side, silent and unseen, while he cried into his master's arms.

On impulse, Hanzo reached out to lay a hand on his trembling shoulders, before being forcibly reminded of what exactly he was when his fingers ghosted through him. Genji shuddered violently, and from that point on, Hanzo kept his hands at his sides, as he watched over them both, the omnic and his brother.


End file.
